


The World Was Wide Enough

by bloomindistress



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bedrock Bros, Character Death, Dream Smp, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hamilton AU ?, Past Character Death, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, So much angst, Tommy is Hamilton, Tubbo is Burr, bear with me, clingy duo angst, duel, i don't know how to tag, if you know how the duel ends im so sorry, im sorry clingytwt, inspired by The World Was Wide Enough, l'manberg, maybe four seconds of comfort if you squint, song fic ?, tell me you don't see the parallels, this fic is sad man, tommy-centered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomindistress/pseuds/bloomindistress
Summary: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.”-Richard Siken
Relationships: Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Technoblade & TommyInnit
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	1. Nightmares

_I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory_

Arrows bite into the places his shield doesn’t cover, ones sent from unseen archers that he knows surround him from all sides. Every time he takes out his own bow to fire back or turns to run away another hits him in the side, or the shoulder blade, or the ribs, and Tommy thinks about how any moment one is going to strike him in the heart. One always does, in the end. Tommy always ends up in the lake, an arrow lodged in his chest, watching his blood float in spirals towards the surface as he sinks further into the deep. Dream is always laughing in these nightmares, and he’s still laughing when Tommy eventually awakens, his heart racing and his fingers curling around his bedsheets. 

Similar memories trap him in a room made of blackstone. He always walks into this room alone, though the first and only time he entered he was surrounded by friends—or people he thought were his friends. The chests are still there, labeled neatly with names that all mean something different now, as empty as the day they were placed there. Sometimes, Tommy is the one to push the button. On other nights, Eret appears in front of him, mouthing the words to a phrase Tommy knows far too well before slamming his fist down on the splintered wood button. On the rarest of occasions Wilbur will be there, smiling grotesquely as he eggs Tommy on, shouting at him until Tommy finally gives in. The dream always ends the same; Tommy lying motionless on the floor, a sword buried between his ribs, staring up at Dream’s mask as the life leaves him. He wakes from these nightmares slowly, and he’s always crying from more than the pain.

There are too many variations to count. Death by an explosion, TNT placed by the man that was once his brother detonating under his feet, sending him rocketing towards the sky. Starving in a flimsy tent, lying in a pool of his own tears and feverish sweat as rain soaks through the cloth barrier above him. A drop into a burning pool of lava, the way home so close and yet miles and miles away. Tommy dreams of dying a thousand different ways, so often that it starts to feel more real every time. 

None of his dreams come close to how it happens.


	2. Reality

_Is this where it gets me?_

A bow in his hands, firm and familiar beneath his calloused palms. A single arrow sitting in his inventory, maybe the last one he ever shoots. The smell of rain and mud and damp earth filling his nostrils, almost preventing him from taking a deep breath. Wooden planks beneath his feet, ones he’s walked a thousand and one times before; they creak as he shifts from leg to leg, a sign of their age. There is no sun on his face, but it’s still too bright, the storm clouds letting slivers of midday light in where they meet. He has stood in this exact spot before, in similar circumstances, and Tommy remembers it like it was yesterday. Though, he supposes yesterday was a long time ago. It’s almost a distant memory now.

\----

_On my feet, several feet ahead of me?_

The president stands behind him, warmth pooling in the inch of space where their backs carefully don’t meet. Someone is trying to shout to them, probably Phil reminding them of the rules, but Tommy can barely hear him over the hurricane raging in his mind. He stands stiffly in place, not relaxing his hold on the weapon to his side and desperately trying to calm the chaos in his brain. A million different futures are fighting for his full attention, a million possibilities for how the day will end. Just imagining the ways this duel can end is making Tommy's stomach churn with bile, and it's taking everything in him not to throw up on the path in front of him. 

Tommy doesn’t register that the counting has started until he feels Tubbo take a step away from him, and he stumbles forward to follow suit. The air seems to die down as they move on Phil’s command, leaving the emotion in the man’s voice laid bare as he shakily counts upward. Tommy almost risks a glance in his direction but decides against it, keeping his eyes firmly downward as he walks toward destiny.

Ten paces isn’t actually that many, when you think about it. Tommy doesn’t know how large of steps Tubbo is taking, but by the seventh count he isn’t that far from his original position. His feet are so heavy, and they feel like they’ve been glued to the ground. His eyes feel the same. He wants to squint through the rain—or are those his tears?— and search for familiar faces in the crowd, but everything he does feels like it’s happening to someone else. Like his body doesn’t belong to him anymore. Like he’s being puppeteered.

Phil is taking his time. He wants them to suddenly snap out of it, to drop their bows and close the distance between them with a hug that makes up for everything. He’s got to know that ship has sailed, but he still hesitates as he calls out the eighth step. Tommy barely moves forward then, and he thinks he can hear Techno curse from somewhere to his left. The thought would have made him laugh once; the great and powerful Blood God, feared across the land, stressed to the point of swearing over a kid like him. He allows his lips to turn up, maybe for the last time, and he thinks it’s fitting that it was because of his brother.

The ninth step takes all of Tommy’s energy, so he gives it everything he’s got. He takes a large enough step that he almost skids on the slick wood, and a stray gasp finds his ears from somewhere within the crowd. Apparently, a duel between an exiled former-VP and the current president draws attention, even from people who don’t care who survives. Though it takes almost half of his strength to do so, Tommy sends a salute in their direction, hoping the gawkers take it as a display of haughtiness and that his allies take it as the goodbye it's supposed to be. 

All at once there is an all-consuming silence. There are no shouts of praise in either of their directions, no encouragement or last-minute exclamations of love or hatred, nothing. No insults are hurled from opposing sides, mostly because the lines between the sides have always been blurred. Tommy and Tubbo, Tubbo and Tommy; who can possibly decide where their allegiance lies when the two of them have been a package deal for so long? Two boys, formerly attached at the hip, stand nine paces away from each other in a duel that was never supposed to happen, and that seems to be sending a shock through all of their systems. Not even the wind dares to move when Phil finally sucks in a breath, exhaling with an emotion only those who wield fate can possess before steeling himself.

“Ten paces, fire!”

And Tommy spins around to face the only person who has ever mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man this feels nice to post. i'm proud of a lot of this fic, but so far these are the sections i'm proudest of. hope you all enjoyed! the recent love on my stuff has felt so surreal man, it still doesn't feel like it's happening. if you've made it this far on the ao3 page, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> i've come up with a schedule for this fic! i'm gonna try and update it biweekly, usually on tuesdays and fridays. i might screw that up because life happens sometimes, but that's gonna be the general rule.
> 
> thanks for reading! stay safe out there.  
> -bloom

**Author's Note:**

> each kudos and comment means so much to me!! this is my first fic i've ever posted on ao3, and it's going to be a hefty one. i have a bit of it written already, but not enough for me to predict an upload schedule. probably weekly/biweekly? anyhow, if you've made it this far i greatly appreciate you and hope you stick around :)
> 
> -bloom


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